


our endless love will remain (until we meet again)

by Aria_Masterson1153



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Cancer, Dissociation when faced with emotions, Hurt and comfort, Implied Past Homophobia, M/M, Mention of major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:30:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: Auston’s always been...possessive of things. So, realistically he should have known.





	our endless love will remain (until we meet again)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Is it really a ship unless you kill both of the characters at some point???  
>   
> Title from If 'I Should Go Before You' by City and Colour, bc it is literally this entire fic lol  
>   
> Enjoy!  
> 

Auston’s always been...possessive of things. He thoroughly understands that they’re _his_ and that nothing can take them away from him.   
  
He knows that his jersey is his.  
  
He knows that Toronto, for better or worse, is his.   
  
And Mitch, thankfully, is his.   
  
So he can’t at all come to terms with the fact that it’s being taken away from him. His Mitch, leaving.   
  
They’d caught it late, the metastatic neuroblastoma. It all began with lonely drives to practice, quiet in the inescapable way Mitch’s absence produced. Then, a false concussion diagnosis by trainers who needed an explanation for a hit they _hadn’t_ seen.

Still, there was a niggling in his stomach, which kept Auston’s eyes locked on Mitch after he reassured the trainers he was getting better. That couple of seconds where he saw the façade slip minutely, and exhibit the pain that Mitch was so carefully concealing. Auston could have said something, but like Mitch, he was intent on ignoring the problem until it went away. Or, until it was unavoidable.

Unavoidable was Mitch’s headaches that turned into vomiting over the toilet during their COD marathons, and the vomiting that turned into blood dribbling out of his nose when he bent over in his dizzy spells.  
  
And, he should have known better. He always protects what is his, he just...he should have known something was wrong.   
  
Because Mitch, lying in a hospital gown that fits him like his jersey would—about 5 sizes too big—makes him look as frail and small as Auston has ever seen him. Mitch has always been larger than life where he’s been small; his smile too wide for his angular face, his wildly gesticulating hands too much for his lean arms.   
  
Now, Mitch actually seems his size...and that? That’s what is the most unsettling to see.  
  
Not the pained, yet reassuring smiles he somehow finds it within himself to direct at Auston’s emotionally flabbergasted expression. It’s the torture of knowing, knowing intrinsically that this isn’t Mitch, and will never be Mitch again. That he’ll leave the Earth a shell of his former self, and these nurses and doctors that fret over him will never know _his_ Mitch.  
  
He glances over Mitch’s ailing body, the wispy remnants of Mitch’s hair fluttering against the regulated air of the AC, Auston can’t believe that only months ago, Mitch’s body was strong; skating around the Mastercard centre without a care in the world. 

In a sick way it’s sort of fitting; Auston was never allowed to have nice things. Never received the camaraderie from teammates who held a bitter resentment towards his talent and work ethic. Never granted the acceptance of a community with prejudices as narrow as their city limits.

He experienced happiness; such an overwhelming happiness that for a moment, he forgot about the curse that always seems to follow him. He didn’t remember, and now they’re both suffering for it. It’s fucking agonizing, but he can’t deny that it’s at least fitting.

And he should be fighting, should be utilizing the tenacious will that earned him his lifestyle, but he can’t anymore. He’s _tired_ , and Mitch is dying. These truths are absolute, and nothing he can do will change them. No matter how much he wishes he could.

He thinks back to the innocent, nearly ignorant joy of working through practice drills with Mitch, and the realization comes slamming into him with the force of a truck. He’ll never skate with Mitch again. Somehow, this admission makes a part of him perish, too.   
  
At least now they’re even.   
  
Because Mitch may look it, with the bluish bruises under his eyes that starve for the eternal sleep his body readies itself for, but Auston is just as dead inside. His body is failing him just as Mitch’s is. 

Except, he is somehow expected to carry on without Mitch. Which is an interesting thought, because he’s barely holding on as it is.

 

\-----/-----

 

The misleading peace on Mitch’s face clears, his face scrunching at the thought of waking up to more pain. Distantly, Auston wonders if he’s dismayed that he’s still waking up, that his cancer hasn’t claimed him yet.   
  
And then Mitch opens his eyes, the vibrant blue stark against the contrast of his unnaturally pale skin. Auston loves his eyes. Damn, will he ever miss them.  
  
Mitch smiles hesitantly when his eyes lock on Auston, and Auston’s not even sure what his face must show. Mitch’s dehydrated lips stretch with the effort of it, and Auston’s heart cracks pathetically. 

“Water?” His voice sounds cold to his own ears, the effort of shielding his emotions too much to bear.

Mitch nods wordlessly in response, slowly leaning down to wrap his lips around the straw, taking weak sips of the water. Mitch’s eyes flicker up to his, and the innocence in his expression subconsciously tightens Auston’s grip on the flimsy plastic cup. He remembers a time where that same expression and action resulted in something completely different. The cancer’s taken that from them, too.  
  
“Hi baby,” Mitch’s voice is splintered, his mouth wrapping around the words unfamiliarly. Mitch’s hazed eyes look to Auston for confirmation that his words are correct, that this death-sentence hasn’t ruthlessly abducted another ability away from him.  
  
Auston doesn’t mind. All he wonders is how many more times Mitch will force himself to say those two words; the words that breathe the life back into him that Mitch is losing. Like skating, he can’t help but consider if this is the last time Mitch will ever speak to him.   
  
There are so many last times they’ve already experienced, Auston’s mind swims in his attempt to keep track of them all.   
  
Mitch’s hands tremble as they slowly reach down to Auston’s, perched on top of his bed sheets. He gently smoothes over Auston’s worn skin, a gesture more likely borne out of fatigue than actual care in his gentleness.   
  
His skin, it’s still warm. He’s still alive.   
  
As long as the warmth heats his skin, he’ll still be Auston’s Mitch, still be the man that Auston will forever pledge himself to.   
  
For now, that has to be enough.   
  
“Hey Mitchy,” he smiles back tentatively, shoving his thoughts back down into the impenetrable void that can only be accessed during Mitch’s unconsciousness.

Auston carefully leans his head onto Mitch’s hospital gown covered chest, the astringent smell of the industrial-grade bleach cutting through his thoughts. It’s a peculiar thing to focus on, but he can’t _smell_ Mitch, can only feel the body that is too bony to belong to his boyfriend.

As each day passes, another bit of Mitch is extinguished. In the beginning, it was his physicality, but now, it’s the smaller things, the seemingly insignificant details that seem to break Auston far beyond what his emotional capacity is capable of handling.

Because each day is a gift, not a guarantee. Each soft beep of the machine that indicates Mitch’s heart is still somehow beating paces Auston’s thoughts. But he knows, that someday soon, he’ll have to find his own rhythm in his mind, a solitary beat that only he will follow.

Each stilted beep of Mitch’s heart doesn’t fill Auston with the gratitude it should, instead it claws his insides with dread. Because each beep is one step closer to the eventual end, where its prophesized silence will remind Auston of everything he has to lose.

A single, inescapable tear jumps down Auston’s cheek, and is immediately soaked up by the itchy fabric of Mitch’s hospital gown.

And, well, it’s fitting. 


End file.
